Page 49 of The Route to You

“Thank you.”

“I know it’s not your fault, and that you’re mad at me, but I promise to make it up to you.”

“I am mad, but you don’t need to make anything up to me. You were already doing me a big favor by coming out here with as my date.” Then her tone went dry. “I just didn’t realize you got around so much.”

He laughed for real this time. “Yeah, I’m known for being a player.”

“If you’re not careful,” Davy warned, “whatever it is you think you’re doing for Sloan is going to become national news, so you never know how you’ll be painted. You’re not exactly faceless and she’s a congressman’s fiancée.” She sighed. “Stay in touch. I’ll email travel plans soon.”

He hung up, resisting the urge to toss his phone onto the bed.

Two days.

Awesome. Just what he needed. A ticking clock and the threat of unemployment.

And what was that about news outlets?

He tapped open the browser on his phone and typed Sloan’s name.

Her smiling picture showed up immediately.

Congressman Evan Tipton’s Fiancée Goes Missing Hours Before Her Wedding

His palms went slick.

“‘Sloan Carrington, the daughter of Actaeon Tech mogul Henry Carrington, has gone missing in Vail, Colorado, hours before she was set to marry Evan Tipton, heir to the Tipton Financial Corporation and congressman for Montana, in a high-profile luxury wedding,’” he read aloud in a soft voice. “‘Carrington was last seen at her rehearsal dinner before vanishing without a trace. Her cell phone was later found outdoors in a secluded location several miles away. Authorities are working to identify a person of interest, described as a white man in his late twenties, who was seen in a nearby cab⁠—”

Kyle’s stomach dropped through the floor.

Fuck. No.

Davy was right. Sloan needed to talk to Evan and control the narrative . . . and soon.

This could end terribly if she doesn’t . . . for all of us.

14

SLOAN

One look at Kyle’s face told Sloan something was wrong.

She stood immediately. Francesca—mid-story, hands moving—stopped and glanced between them, uncertainty flickering across her features.

“Can we talk for a moment?” Kyle asked, tilting his head toward the guest room.

“Sure. Excuse me.” Sloan offered Francesa a breezy smile that felt thin as paper. “Dinner smells delicious already. I’m starving. Be right back.”

She followed Kyle back to the room without waiting for a response. He held the door for her, then shut it behind him.

“Read this,” he said, handing her his unlocked cell phone.

Her own face smiled up at her from the screen.

With a thudding heart, Sloan skimmed the article—from a major news outlet, not a gossip blog. Holy shit.

“I’m going to kill him,” she muttered, her fingers curling around the phone.

Why would Evan do this?